


Another Man's Grave

by PaperPlaneChemTrails



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: (Or is it?), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hannibal and Will's marriage was messed up, M/M, Slow Burn, This is a tribute to the gothic romance trope of 'returned' lovers, Will is going to get there eventually, but for now he DOES NOT like Hannibal, hidden identity, more tags to be added as we go along, they spy on each other a lot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2020-12-31 07:18:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21112295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaperPlaneChemTrails/pseuds/PaperPlaneChemTrails
Summary: Will's husband, Hannibal Lecter, went missing nearly three years ago.Yesterday morning, a man claiming to be Hannibal Lecter disembarked a plane in Washington DC.He looks like Will's husband, talks like him, and everyone who interacts with him is convinced that the man is Hannibal. No one wants to hear Will's protests to the contrary. As the impostor takes up the reins of Dr. Lecter's life, Will begins to doubt himself. How could this man be the same he remembers? How could a stranger know him so well? When perceptions shift and Will is suddenly the one defending Hannibal's identity, the truth starts to matter less than holding on to the one person he's come to trust.





	1. I

On November third, 2016, Dr. Hannibal Lecter boarded a plane from Baltimore, Maryland to Vilnius, Lithuania. He had plans to evaluate the condition of his ancestral estate and decide the best course of action regarding its continued maintenance. There was some discussion about setting up a trust with a local historical society, but Dr. Lecter had privately expressed doubt as to the legitimacy of the organization and was not optimistic. He also planned to attend two symphony performances, several private dinner engagements, and an art auction. His husband of two years, William Graham, was not accompanying him, but the two of them made contact several times throughout the first week and a half of the trip.

Mr. Graham did not notice anything odd about his spouse’s behavior at the time. 

Dr. Lecter was seen in and around Vilnius and two other towns on the way to his family estate. He never appeared at any of his pre arranged engagements, although his husband did continue to receive correspondence from him until the evening of the eleventh, including several text messages and one video chat session, during which Dr. Lecter appeared to be on the grounds of the estate. 

When Dr. Lecter failed to appear for his scheduled appointments with patients on November twenty fifth, some mild alarm was raised. Several voice messages were left on his personal cell phone from concerned patients. Mr. Graham maintains that he was unaware that any attempt had been made to contact his husband, and that he had not been given an exact date when Dr. Lecter meant to return; only that it would be within the month depending on the business that needed to be conducted while he was in Lithuania. It was not unusual, he claimed, for the two of them to go several days without speaking while one of them was traveling, especially considering the time difference. 

A colleague of Dr. Lecter reported him missing to the Baltimore PD on November seventh. Mr. Graham still refused to cooperate with investigators. He maintained that this was not unusual for his husband, and that the man who had made the missing persons report was overreacting. 

On October eleventh, he allowed their shared Baltimore home to be searched, and submitted his and Dr. Lecter’s cell phone records and search histories to the police and their personal lawyer. His whereabouts and movements during the past weeks were accounted for, and a formal statement was taken, although he maintained that he did not suspect that his husband was truly missing. 

Bank accounts and other joint assets were frozen. No attempts were made by Mr. Graham or any other party to access or transfer funds. He admitted later that it was at the revelation by law enforcement that there had been no activity on any accessible accounts that he seriously considered the possibility that something had happened to his spouse. 

Extensive investigations by both the FBI and Interpol revealed no new information as to the whereabouts or ultimate fate of Dr. Lecter after two years. Although the case was still officially open, active investigation was halted, and he was declared to be missing and presumed dead in the eyes of the United States and Lithuania. His husband remained an official person of interest in both cases, although he was never formally accused or charged with any crime. 

It was at this point that the legal battle over Dr. Lecter’s extensive estate began. No Last Will and Testament was found, and consequently dozens of parties claimed to be owed or promised money, various pieces of art, publishing rights, and in one case an entire house. The matter was further complicated and widely publicized when Mr. Graham refused to appear in court to defend his late husband’s millions. He fought no claims or debts against the estate, and let huge swathes of the fortune go through deliberate inaction.

Many media outlets at the time had used this as an argument in favor of Mr. Graham having had nothing to do with his husband’s disappearance. Others took it as a cue to dig deeper. Private email and phone accounts were hacked into and their content published, revealing a shared history between the couple that was murkier than the public had been led to believe. Mr. Graham had been profoundly ill when he agreed to marry his psychiatrist, Dr. Lecter; he was admitted to the hospital less than a week after the private ceremony and diagnosed with Anti-NMDA Encephalitis. He had been hallucinating and displaying erratic behavior for weeks. He later privately accused Dr. Lecter of not only convincing him to not seek treatment for much longer than was safe, but using his disoriented state against him. Strangely, Mr. Graham never spoke to friends or colleagues about his concerns regarding his husband at the time. 

This was a different sort of story altogether. Now, Mr. Graham was painted as either a pitiable victim unable to defend himself, or a man bent on revenge at any cost. Again, he ignored any requests for comments or interviews. One of the last photos published of Mr. Graham was of him standing in the darkened doorway of the Baltimore home he and Dr. Lecter had once shared; a sneer on his face as he closed the door against the camera. 

Several complaints were made to the neighborhood HOA regarding the declining state of the home. Letters were sent and ignored. More complaints were filed, until the whole thing was given up as a lost cause - no senior member of the HOA would volunteer to actually knock on the door and confront Mr. Graham directly.

Although he worked in the early days of his husband’s disappearance, he eventually resigned from his position at the FBI academy and his consulting position with the BAU.

Alana Bloom had not spoken to Will much since then. A few texts, fewer phone conversations, and even fewer face to face interactions. Will had been antisocial before his marriage, and Hannibal had liked to keep him close to home while they were together. He was a recluse now. She, like everyone else, had received more updates about Hannibal’s disappearance from the news than she did from Will directly.

The townhouse Alana had once known so well looked abandoned in the winter morning gloom. No lights on in the windows, no car in the driveway, no sound from behind the front door as she rang the bell.

“Will? Come on, I know you’re in there.” She knocked before ringing the bell again. “Will, let me in. It’s cold.”

Finally she heard several locks turn, and the large door opened slightly to reveal a sliver of Will’s disheveled clothing and unkempt hair. “Hi, Alana.”

“Hey. Can I come in? I need to talk to you.”

He eyed her for a few more seconds before fully opening the faded front door and stepping back. The foyer of the house was not much warmer than the stoop, and she frowned to see that everything was in even worse shape than the last time she had been allowed inside. Furniture has been haphazardly pushed against walls, and two open, arched doorways were covered over with antique carpets nailed into the casing. 

“I take it you’re here to talk about whatever Jack’s been calling for all morning.” Will closed the door behind her. She followed him across dusty floors to Hannibal’s former office. All the curtains were drawn, but there was a low fire burning. Books were piled up around two chairs, and the pillows and blankets tossed over the sofa told a damning story of where Will had been sleeping. Alana stood awkwardly in the center of the dim room, watching Will stand with his back to her at the fireplace. 

“I am. You may want to sit down, Will.”

He shook his head. “Whatever it is, you’ll be bringing him an answer he won’t like. Just skip to that part.”

“It’s not about a case.” She took a fortifying breath. “Hannibal just got off a plane in Washington DC.”

Will turned to look at her. His expression was completely blank. “If that’s a joke, there better be a hell of a punchline.”

“I said nearly the same thing. Customs agents stopped him when his passport was scanned, and the FBI was called. Jack is on his way already. When he couldn’t get ahold of you, he asked me to come get you.”

There was a short but potent silence before Will answered. “What exactly does Jack need me to do?”

“You have to come see him.” She said gently. 

“Where has he been?”

“His flight came in from Kaunas International Airport. Beyond that, he has declined to speak to customs agents. He asked for you, and then Jack.”

Will ran his hands roughly over his face a few times before answering. “He cannot possibly have been in Lithuania all this time.”

“We won’t know until we get there.” 

He stood looking at her, and she took in how thin his shoulders had become. “Then I guess I’d better get dressed.”

The drive to Washington was long and mostly quiet. Will had emerged from the downstairs bathroom in khakis and a sweater that didn’t appear to be molting, though no better fitting than the clothes Alana had found him in. She had made a quick call to Jack, letting him know they were on their way. She offered to stop and pick up something for breakfast but Will had refused.

The walk from the car to a side entrance of the airport was equally fraught; Will rushing ahead and lagging behind Alana’s measured steps but never managing to keep pace. He was nearly shaking by the time they were walking down a long hall towards a holding area made up of rows of benches and beige cubicles. Jack Crawford was waiting for them, hat in his hands. Behind him, security and customs agents ebbed and flowed.

“Will, it’s good to see you. Thank you both for coming.”

“Where is he?” Alana asked, resisting the urge to peer over his shoulder.

“He’s in a cubicle at the other end of the room. I thought it would be best for me to brief you both before you see him.”

“What has he said?”

“Mostly, he’s just been asking for Will.” Jack said, examining Will as he remained silent, clearly taking in his poor condition and jittery hands. “He told me he was injured in Lithuania, and is suffering from some lingering amnesia as a result. He didn’t know who he was until nine days ago.”

Will’s brows drew together sharply. “What?”

“However, he recognized me on sight, and has been able to correctly answer every question the agents here asked. He gave an account of being in the hospital and not knowing he was a doctor, but the nurses told him he must have been because he kept correcting their technique.”

“That does sound like him.” Alana said with a small smile. 

If Will saw it, he ignored her. “They searched the hospitals. We ruled out dozens of people.”

“The Vilnius police must have missed him.” 

“That’s a big miss, Jack.”

“We can start knocking heads tomorrow. Right now, I know he is eager to see you.”

Will swallowed, throat tight when he finally nodded. Jack led them down the rows and rows of cubicles; nearly all of them empty now. 

Alana’s first clear view of him was of his profile as he sat speaking to an FBI agent. His hair was longer than she had ever seen it, maybe grayer. His clothing was casual, and rumpled more than she knew he would have liked from the long flight. His eyes were tired, but they were his eyes as he turned his attention to the three of them. 

Beside her, she felt Will nearly stumble as those eyes landed on him. 

He stood. Alana saw his right hand clench and unfurl. Saw how his chest expanded when he took a deep breath. 

The agent sitting across from him gathered his papers and said something to him as he stood to leave, but was completely ignored. Jack made a sharp, one handed gesture, and the agent hurried out. 

Will looked glazed over; unsteady on his feet as he took the last few steps towards him.

“Will.” He said, and his voice carried the low, rolling accent she remembered. She felt tears start to sting her eyes.

Will stopped dead, a few feet still separating the two of them.

He didn’t sway, as she half expected him to. In fact, his spine straightened, and his arms hung loose at his sides.

“Hannibal?”

“I cannot tell you how good it is to see you, Will.”

“Oh.” Will started to slowly shake his head, dark curls catching along his collar. “You’re not him.”

From beside her, Alana heard Jack say, “What?”

The man’s head tilted ever so slightly, eyes narrowed as he took in Will’s words. 

“That’s not Hannibal.”


	2. II

There had been a flurry of activity and mixed emotion after Will denounced the man in custody. Will, if anything, seemed to have found his center. He stood steady and clear eyed now, taking in Jack’s aggravated yelling and Alana’s shaking questions with a stoic expression. 

He did not meet the man’s eyes again, even as he repeated Will’s name once more. 

After several tense minutes, Jack made the executive decision to separate them again, leaving the man with another customs agent as he led Will and Alana back through the rows of cubicles to stand on the other side of the room. Will kept walking until he was nearly nose to nose with a huge window that looked out onto the tarmac, his back to them. 

“What in the hell is going on, Will?” Jack asked, keeping his tone as level as he could manage. 

Will shrugged, hands coming to rest in his pockets. “That’s not my husband.”

“What makes you think that?” Alana asked, her tone pointed.

“There’s nothing to think about. I would know my husband if I saw him, and I don’t know that man.”

“You have to understand why we may be confused by that. Jack recognizes him. I recognize him.”

“There is a physical resemblance, obviously, and they share an accent by virtue of being from the same country, but beyond that? He doesn’t hold himself correctly, too relaxed in the shoulders and feet set too wide.”

“He has been on a plane for nearly a whole day, Will. You don’t think his posture may reflect that he’s tired?”

Will was shaking his head before Alana finished speaking. “His hands too, did you notice? Those are not a surgeon’s hands. Not a chef or a musician’s hands. Similar shape, but none of the occupational marks; not the right calluses or scars.”

“Will.” Jack said, stepping forward to look him in the face. “I think you have had a shock.”

“I would say so, Jack. A man is pretending to be my husband and I’m getting the impression you don’t believe me when I say that.”

“It’s not that I don’t believe you, but you have to admit this is a lot to accept. Why would someone pretend to be Dr. Lecter? Why fly here and ask to see you, and not just show up at a bank in Vilnius with his ID and make a withdrawal?”

“What a shock he’d get.” Will said under his breath, before continuing, “He’s not after money. Or not just money.”

“I don’t think he’s after anything. I think he’s home for the first time in years, still dealing with whatever happened in Lithuania, and he deserves the benefit of our doubt for a few days until he has a chance to adjust.” Alana said. 

“You expect me to let a stranger into my house.”

“I expect that in a few days you will realize that what you’re feeling is an emotional response to seeing Hannibal again.”

Will looked thunderstruck, poised between anger and disbelief. He looked to Jack again.

“Run his finger prints, his dental records. I want statements from those supposed nurses, from the flight crew, from every agent here on his movements and their interactions with him.”

“Will -” Jack tried. 

“And when all of those come back negative, I want this man arrested and questioned in relation to the disappearance.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Alana asked. “When all those things come back proving it is him? What will you do?”

“What will you do? Give him back his patients and go on pretending none of this ever happened?” Will’s voice was acidic. 

“I would rather do that than rot in his house and pretend I never knew him.”

“You, both of you, are so desperate to get him back you’ll apparently accept anyone who walks off a plane looking like him,” Will snapped. “I shudder to think how quickly you would replace me.”

“Enough!” Jack let his voice carry through the huge room. “I am going to keep him in custody tonight. Will, you are going to sit in on an FBI interview tomorrow. Dr. Bloom is going to observe, as a professional and as a friend to Dr. Lecter.”

“Jack, I would consider -”

“I will be considering everything I believe to be relevant, Dr. Bloom. I am with you; I took the man to be Hannibal. However, Will is one of the most gifted profilers I have ever worked with and the man’s spouse to boot. I cannot, I do not, take his word lightly.”

“Thank you, Jack.” Will sighed, deflated and drawing back into himself.

Jack shook his head, turning away from them both. “Get out of here. I’ll see you both in my office tomorrow.”

“I’d like to speak with him.” Alana protested.

“Tomorrow, Dr. Bloom. For now, I am going to see if these TSA agents know enough to know that the FBI outranks them.” With that, he strode away into the maze of cubicles.

Jack didn’t speak to the man in custody again that day. He arranged to have him transferred, and then had fingerprints and dental imprints taken and rushed to be compared to anything they had on record for Dr. Lecter. 

He was surprised to hear that they did not have fingerprints or DNA on file. His original immigration file had not been digitized, and fingerprints had not been routinely kept at the time if the applicant did not have a criminal record in their country of origin. He submitted a request for the original file anyway, for all the good it would do him. 

The dental imprints were more interesting. They did not entirely fail to match; all the fillings and one replaced tooth were there, but other major markers were off, even if just slightly. It was explained to him that several years without dental care and a change in diet could account for the difference. When he asked how easy it was to ’fake teeth’ the technician had said that they had never seen it done successfully, though they admitted all the cases they had seen where such a thing had been attempted the teeth in question had belonged to a deceased individual.

The man’s travel documents were the same that Dr. Lecter had taken with him, and they found no additional stamps in either of his passports. His handwriting, too, was compared to samples they had collected from his home and confirmed to be a match. 

Jack ate a quick, overly salted dinner at his desk as he looked over the transcripts of the interviews conducted with the flight crew from Vilinus. The man had been a model passenger, though he had refused the in-flight meals. He ate only what he had brought himself.

The next day, he was back in his office by seven AM. Jack sat in a dark observation room as two agents interviewed the man again. All of their questions were answered, more or less. He danced around what led to him being admitted into the hospital, again citing his lingering amnesia, but could answer every question about his friends, his address, every school he ever attended. The man was able to name all of Dr. Lecter’s patients before his disappearance as well as every paper he had ever published. 

He asked when he might be able to see Will Graham. 

Jack was alerted when Will and Alana were on the premises, and he met them in his office. Alana was composed and resolute, immediately asking where Hannibal was being kept, and when she could speak to him. Will looked as though he hadn’t slept.

Jack handed the file on Dr. Lecter’s disappearance and the newly created file on the man in custody to Will.

“I still have questions,” Jack started, “but I think this goes a long way in allaying the concerns you raised yesterday.”

“Convincing me would be the quickest way to get him out from under your nose and out into the world; free to do whatever he thinks he can do with my husband’s identity. Forgive me if I remain skeptical.”

“You’re not skeptical, Will, you’re denying the evidence in front of you because you don’t want to confront the reality of the situation.” Alana insisted.

Will scowled but otherwise ignored her, flipping through pages so fast Jack was sure he couldn’t actually be reading them.

“These dental markers are off.” Will finally said, not looking up from the file.

“Not all of them, and everything else matches. We can get a second opinion, but I don’t expect drastically different results.”

Will’s brows drew together as he kept reading. “A lot of these questions were the same you asked me when he first disappeared.”

“And he has been able to correctly answer every question.”

“This would be easy enough to find online, especially after all the media coverage.” Will scoffed.

Jack sighed. 

“How is he doing?” Alana asked.

Jack looked at Will’s down turned face for a long moment before answering. “He’s been asking for Will.” 

Will laughed, short and ugly sounding. He threw the files onto Jack’s desk. “I wouldn’t, if I were him. Anyone who followed the story knows we were on the brink of divorce before he left. If that were really him, he wouldn’t ask about me at all. Your impostor didn’t do his homework.”

"You can't have it both ways! Has he spent weeks researching Hannibal's life, and you, or is he failing to get even the basics right? You are twisting everything Jack is telling you!" Alana burst out. She quickly composed herself, taking a deep breath before continuing. “Hannibal cared about you, Will. He wouldn’t have married you if he didn’t.”

“He wanted to control me, and I was dumb enough to let him. Don’t expect me to do it again.”

“You think it’s not him. OK; come in with me and we can send him back to wherever he came from.” Jack said, leaning forward and forcing Will to meet his eye. “But if it is Hannibal, he went through a lot to get home. I know I feel like he owes us all an explanation. Whatever happens after that is up to you.”

“This man is acting out a soap opera and you’re falling for it, Jack.” Will said, rubbing his palms into his eyes.

“If that’s true, he’s doing a hell of a job. I have spent the last several hours observing him, and while I’m not saying there aren’t holes in his story, I am inclined to believe the man telling me that story is Hannibal Lecter.” Jack stood and opened the door to lead them towards the interrogation rooms.

They left Alana in the adjoining room to observe, and the two of them did not speak as Jack opened the door and gestured for Will to go in. 

The man stood as Will entered. Jack watched as he closed the door behind them. The man had been calm, a bit bored even, throughout the whole process of being in FBI custody, but his gaze was sharp as he took in Will.

“Good morning. Sorry to keep you waiting.” Jack said.

“No need to apologize, Jack. I understand the situation is a complicated one.” He said, eyes only briefly landing on Jack before flicking back to Will. “Hello, Will.”

“Presumptuous. We’ve never been introduced and here we are on a first name basis.”

“I doubted that myself, when I first began to regain my memories. I thought you were a dream. A phantom I created to keep madness at bay.” 

“You do talk like him. Did you meet him, I wonder, or just observe him for a while?”

“You truly do not know me?”

“Only who you’re trying to be.”

“I am Hannibal, Will. What can I do to prove it to you?” He took a step towards him and Will’s arm shot out between them - a clear warning to stay where he was. The man stilled, eventually moving back to the opposite side of the table.

Will pressed on as if nothing had happened. “When was the last time I spoke to my husband?”

“I assume you mean before yesterday? November twentieth, 2016. I called you via video chat in the early evening.” 

“What did he and I discuss?”

His eyes went soft around the edges. “You did most of the talking, as I remember it. I was tired, and happy to simply listen to you talk about your day and your lesson plans. The sight of you in our home nourished me.” He paused. His voice was careful, reverent as he added, “You were beautiful, Will. I had feared it would be the last time I would ever see you.”

Will just looked at him, the long seconds curdling before he finally turned away to address Jack. “I told you about that final contact. He was strange, letting me talk a lot, and wouldn’t fully illuminate his face. I thought later that maybe he had been injured, or didn’t want me to know his location.”

Jack sighed, disappointed that Will was so unmoved. He pushed out the chair next to him, and gestured for Will to sit. He eventually did, arms crossed as the man resumed his own seat.

“As I said, I was tired; nothing more sinister than a long journey in a country that had once been my home. I was disheartened by the condition of my ancestral estate, and content to let you buoy me.”

“My husband was an incredibly self contained person. He required very little from others, and never emotional support.”

He nodded. “Indeed. I regret that deeply. This experience has taught me many things, not the least of which is how lacking I was as a partner to you. Things will be different now that I am back.”

“You’re not ‘back’.” Will spat. “You have never been.”

Will addressed Jack. “I didn’t always like my spouse, but I knew him. I knew how a room felt with him in it.” He met the other man's eyes, leaning in ever so slightly. “I don’t feel it now.”

“How do I feel, Will?” The man asked.

Jack watched Will’s hands clench into fists under the table as he answered.

“Like a vacuum. You’ve been hungry for a long time, and you think something meaty is finally within reach.” He sneered. “I’d rather we both starve than provide whatever nourishment you’re looking for.”

With that, he was up and through the door before Jack had time to react beyond yelling after him, the door slamming so hard it rattled the glass of the two way mirror. A moment later they heard another door opening, and high heeled shoes hurrying to follow him down the hall. All the while Jack watched the man across the table. Watched him slowly deflate as the turbulence of Will’s departure settled with his retreating footsteps. 

“I am sorry about Will. He has... struggled since you left. He needs time to adjust. I expect you will, too.”

There was something lost about his expression as he answered. “He makes me doubt myself. Will was the pillar upon which I rested the certainty that my memories were my own, and not the creation of a lost mind. If he does not see the truth of who I am, then how can I?”

“I am certain enough for the both of us, Dr. Lecter. Welcome home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading - especially if you're coming to try this fic out after reading my last one. I appreciate it!


	3. III

Will managed to avoid Alana after storming out of the interview with Jack and the impostor they were determined to turn into his husband. He’d had the foresight to grab his old ID before letting Alana shuttle him to the interview that morning, and he was thankful for it now as he made his way to the parking lot. It took a bit of convincing to get the agent in charge of the fleet of federally issued vehicles to let him take one, but the name Jack Crawford carried a lot of weight, and Jack had been optimistic enough about his ability to convince Will to come out of his self imposed exile and return to work that not many people knew Will was no longer employed there. So, less than fifteen minutes after exiting the building he was pulling out of the parking lot and heading back to Baltimore in a black SUV. He had shame enough to not turn on the lights and speed the whole way there, but the thought did cross his mind. 

Will was furious. Beyond furious. Jack and Alana were supposed to be, if not his friends any longer, at least his mutually respected colleagues. He had hoped that they would value his opinion on his own spouse at least as much as they had when creating a criminal profile. He thought bitterly of the way they had hung on his every word and remembrance when Hannibal had first gone missing, both of them convinced by turns that he either had something to do with it or held the key to finding him. 

The resentment felt like acid sitting in his chest. All they had wanted was to bring Hannibal home, both of them insisting they were tirelessly working on Will’s behalf. If only they were inclined to work half as hard for him now, they would see how wrong this new Hannibal was. His skin had practically itched with it as soon as he was in the same room as the man. 

As he drove, he imagined a dozen different things to do once he was back in the house. Maybe he would burn it down; that would be easy and hard to prove although very suspiciously timed. He could board up all the doors and windows and hole up inside, finally safe from outside interference in his life. He could, conversely, open every portal and let the house fill with snow and rain and rot from the inside out while he died of exposure in the living room. Perhaps he could disappear, and stay disappeared until someone showed up looking even slightly like him and everyone welcomed him back with open arms. 

Something about that last thought did appeal to him. Wasn’t he owed a disappearance of his own?

Mind half made up, he parked in the driveway and left the key in the ignition - they were sure to be close behind him.

Will went through the house, avoiding some rooms and ransacking others. He had abandoned most of the second story a year after Hannibal was gone; no point in one person using all that space. By the same logic, he didn’t turn on the heat or many of the lights, instead lighting fires only in the downstairs rooms he kept to. It was economical, he told himself, not ‘dark’ and ‘depressing’. 

He pulled his things together - some clothing, a toothbrush of dubious pedigree - and packed it together in a leather satchel. He was rummaging through an armoire he thought he’d put a few sweaters in when he heard the front door open, and Alana’s voice call out. 

“Will? Are you here?”

He grit his teeth, annoyed at himself for moving too slowly. He should have been gone already. 

“Will?” She called again, voice closer now. 

“How long has the house been in this state?” A lower voice asked. 

He could barely hear Alana’s reply. “More than a year, now. I tried a few times to help, but he didn’t want anyone in here with him.”

“I will see that it is restored. Even if he continues to refuse to recognize me -”

“Don’t say that, Hannibal. He’ll come around. It’s just ... this has all been a huge shock.”

“Just so. Will deserves better than this, even if he refuses to let himself have it.”

They were close now, nearly to the end of the hallway. Will had a choice to make. He was not going to hide in his own damn house. 

“I don’t remember inviting you in.” Will called out. 

There was a pause. He could picture the look they exchanged as his voice echoed down the hall.

“Hannibal had his key,” she replied, voice perfectly level. “I was going to stay here tonight, and make sure everything is OK.”

Will came to stand in the doorway, looking out at them. “OK for whom? Me, you, or him?”

“I’m here as a friend to you both, Will.”

Beside her, the man watched him. Not with Alana’s pitying expression, but with sharp, clear interest. There was a spark of familiarity, and Will had a moment of near vertigo. Hannibal, the real Hannibal, had often watched him like that. Even when they weren’t speaking, and Will was counting down the days until he left on his trip, Hannibal had watched him like a predator.

Will wondered who he was trying to fool in that moment: Alana, still standing beside him, observing them both, or Will. 

“You lived like this when we first met, plus a half a dozen canine companions.” His voice was quiet, as if they had no audience. “I fully expected to return to a house full of them.”

Will shrugged one shoulder, unimpressed. “Anyone could have told you that I like dogs.”

He gave a small half nod of acknowledgement. “Why have you been sleeping in my study?”

“That room has the most functional fireplace, and if I don’t want to go out and grab wood, I can burn books.” 

“Some of those are incredibly rare volumes.” 

Will cocked his head. “Like what?”

“I believe I had a first edition Dickens and Hawthorne in that library.”

“Both purchased at auction after he and I were married, and easy enough to find in financial records included in the dissolution of his estate.”

His lips softened into something like a smile. “You would never burn books, Will. Not even mine.” 

Will bristled. “You have no idea what I would and would not do.”

“Perhaps not. I was surprised and disheartened when Alana and Jack told me that you let your inheritance as my spouse be taken from you.”

“I didn’t want his money.” Will said through clenched teeth. “I wasn’t going to go to court and scramble after trinkets like every other vulture that came out of the woodwork. Are you disappointed? Did you think that you’d appear here and start writing checks?”

Alana started to admonish him, but the man held up a hand. “The only disappointment I feel is in how it was handled by the court. The money was rightfully yours. I would have been happy enough to return home and have you tell me you gifted it all to animal shelters, if that had been your choice.” 

“That is incredibly sweet, Hannibal.”

“Incredibly uncharacteristic, as well.” Will said tersely.

“I was forced into many unpleasant realizations about the flaws of the man I had been before I was injured. Materialism was undoubtedly one of them.” 

Will shook his head, finally looking back to Alana. “Stay here as long you’d like. I’m leaving.”

“Will -”

Again, he held up his hand and Alana let him speak. “It is not my wish to force you from our home. I will find alternate lodging, if you truly cannot bare to share a roof with me.”

“It’s your house too, Hannibal. It may not feel like home right now, but you have every right to be here.”

“It doesn’t feel like home because he’s never been here before.”

“I think it has more to do with the fact that you’ve rendered it nearly unlivable.”

Will opened his mouth to defend himself, but she pressed on.

“When was the last time you slept in a bed? When you ate more than one meal a day? Do you have any idea how awful it has been to watch you do this to yourself?” Her voice shook, and she brushed angrily at a tear on her cheek. “I know this is Hannibal. I know it. But even if it wasn’t, even if you were truly seeing something I didn’t and not just reacting negatively to a stressful situation, could you blame me for seizing on the one thing that may force you to change your behavior?”

“You’re asking me -”

She took two steps closer. “I’m only asking you to try, Will. Please. I’m still your friend, no matter what you say or do to convince me that I’m not.”

The fight left him. “I am… I know it’s been bad, but I’m OK.”

“I am looking at you right now, and you’re not OK. All I want is for you to have the opportunity to make things better. Please stay tonight and see how things look in the morning.”

Behind her, the man’s face retained the shape of worry, but his eyes held the black gaze of a shark scenting chum in the water. Will had the disadvantage of not knowing which of them was providing the bait; only that it was about to be devoured.

He looked back to Alana, crying and just trying to do what she thought was right. “Fine. The master should be comfortable. I can fix up another bedroom for...him.”

“Nonsense. You should sleep in the master, Will. I will be perfectly comfortable in my study, and Alana can have her choice of the guest bedrooms.”

“Someone threw rocks through two of the upstairs windows,” Will said, addressing Alana as through she was the one who had spoken. “I have them boarded up, but it is pretty drafty. The smallest bedroom is fine, though. I’ll find some blankets.”

“That would be perfect.” She smiled, strained but sincere as she took one of Will’s hands in hers and squeezed. She was warm, and soft, and Will just wanted her out of the house so he could start setting it on fire. “Hannibal, why don’t you go wait for us? I’ll help Will set up.”

The man nodded, clasping his hands behind his back as turned to move back towards the study.

Will watched him go. “I don’t know what condition the sheets will be in. I have more somewhere, but we’ll have to hunt them down.”

Will drew out finding the least musty bedding he could for as long as possible, even searching through a linen closet that he had frankly forgotten about, with Alana on his heels the whole time. He kept trying to convince himself that the dread he felt was over having people in his space and not the prospect of facing the master bedroom for the first time since it had been searched, years ago now.

Simply opening the door was enough to nearly knock him back on his heels. The shape of the furniture, the way the street lights came through the curtains, even the color of the walls created a squirming knot of anxiety in his stomach. Hannibal had never really left this room, in Will’s mind. The walk-in closet had smelled of his cologne for months and months after he disappeared, even after Will had torn through the clothes there in a drunken, half baked attempt at revenge.

Hannibal had been many things. An accomplished and lauded medical professional. A talented musician and artist. A collector of beautiful and rarified objects. When he had been in a generous mood, he had counted Will as the centerpiece of that collection. For a while, that had not been such a bad position to be in.

Perhaps, in the beginning, when he had still been out of his mind with fever and so, so thankful that Hannibal had seen the encephalitis in time to save his life, Will had loved him. Agreeing to marry Hannibal had seemed like a natural, if quick, progression in their relationship. No one had ever cared to know Will like Hannibal had. No one else had seemed to care about him at all. But once the fever was gone and Will began to think clearly again, gratitude and mutual care had not been what guided their relationship. 

Will could hardly bare to look at the bed.

Beside him, Alana carried on, making polite one-sided small talk and pulling off the dark blue coverlet. She frowned as she shook it out. 

“I don’t think this is too bad, but you’ll never get the creases out.”

“I doubt that will be the worst of my problems.” Will said, moving to check the condition of the fireplace. A little water damage, but surely safe to use. 

Behind him, he heard Alana sigh. “He talked about you the whole way here, you know.”

He grit his teeth. “I can’t talk about it anymore tonight, Alana. I am letting him sleep here. Even if there was no doubt about who he is, I would struggle to share a roof with him.”

He felt her eyes on him as he moved into the en suite, flicking on the lights and testing the faucets. The pipes were dry; groaning and sputtering before finally running clear.

She was quiet for a few moments, finishing tucking in the new sheets under the ruined velvet. “I know you’re only doing this because I’m here, but I’m thankful anyway. I really missed him. I missed you both, you know?”

Will didn’t have anything to say to that, and she didn’t seem to expect him to. Alana finished making up the bed, and when she asked if he had eaten dinner he said he wasn’t hungry. She didn’t press, just said a quiet good night, and shut the door behind her.. 

Will listened to her go downstairs, and the low murmur of voices as they spoke. Will stood and waited, listening. Finally he heard her wish the man a good night as well, and make her way to the guest bedroom. He eased open the door and crept downstairs.

The fire in the study had been stoked, and the light pooled in the foyer. Will found an edge in the darkness with a clear view through the open door as the man moved around the room. 

He was reading. No, browsing; looking through volumes at a leisurely pace, occasionally angling the pages towards the firelight. He slipped one book back into its place and pulled another from a higher shelf. 

This one gave him pause, and he lingered on a few pages near the back of the volume. Will very deliberately did not let his breath catch when he tore the pages out, reading them again one by one before casting them into the flames. He flipped through the book again before sliding it back into place.

Will had a moment of spiked rage. How dare he. Burning books indeed, the asshole. What could he have found? 

The man watched the fire for a while longer before moving to sit on the sofa, leather creaking around him. Will watched him run his hands over the blankets still draped haphazardly over the arm and seat. He pulled one of the blankets free from the others, dragging it up to his face. He inhaled deeply, letting his head fall back to the cushions as he did, eyes closed. 

Seeing him do that, scenting the bedding Will had been using for weeks, made his thoughts fly in two different directions.

The first was that the situation was perhaps even worse than Will had accounted for. This man may have been after money that Will no longer had, but that was clearly not all he was after. Destroying those pages pointed towards prior knowledge of the house and its contents that Will had no way of predicting, or at the very least that he knew enough to destroy possible evidence when he saw it.

The second was that while Will still believed that the man was not and had never been Hannibal he was clearly a similar enough monster, or dedicated enough mimic, that he should prove susceptible to the same defensive tactics that had helped Will hold on to his sanity the first time around. One spider had abandoned its web, and something that looked an awful lot like the same species had moved in. Will was not about to let himself be caught twice. 

Will slipped from his shadowed corner and silently padded back to the master bedroom. Distressing as it was, the familiarity did provide a cold kind of comfort. No sharp eyes or cruel lips would be waiting for in the bed upstairs while his doppelganger lingered on the sofa. 

He would outlast this intruder, and once he was gone Will was going to make sure there was nothing left worth coming back for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every version of Hannibal is the creepy version of Hannibal, and I intend to prove it over the course of this fic.


	4. IV

Will woke up feeling better than he had in ages. Even in its current state, the bed was extraordinarily more comfortable than he remembered it being. Men nearing middle age, it turned out, did not do well sleeping on chesterfield sofas for extended periods regardless of how expensive, antique, or Italian they may be, and for the first time in a long time Will’s back and neck didn’t ache as he rolled over. The room was warm and bright around him, and if he hadn’t already known better he may have allowed the thought to cross his mind that this was going to be a good day.

Until he remembered that there was no legitimate reason for the master bedroom to be bright, or warm. He had gone to bed with the curtains drawn and no fire going. One of his two too many house guests must have taken it upon themselves to come into his room while he was sleeping. Scowling, he fumbled out of the bed, leaving it unmade for which ever one of them had appointed themselves his housekeeper. 

He pawed through drawers he hadn’t looked in for ages, pulling on whatever clothing seemed to be the most salvageable before making his way downstairs towards the kitchen. He could smell food cooking, and the low roll of conversation down the hall drew him in. Will kept his steps soft and paused just outside the doorway. 

“... they didn’t have those mushrooms, but I thought the little button ones would be OK.”

“An acceptable substitute in the dish. Thank you again for going.”

“It’s no problem at all. Is Will up?”

“I thought it best to let him sleep. No need to rush him into another challenging day.”

“He needs to accept the situation, Hannibal. He’s not going to do that if we let him avoid you.”

“I’m not avoiding anyone this morning, Alana.” Will said, stepping into the kitchen and only glancing at her surprised face before he looked to the man at the stove. “What’s for breakfast?”

He must have pulled a few things from the ruined closet in the master bedroom while Will slept. The colors and details Hannibal favored were there, dressed down as a concession to the circumstances. His hair had been slicked back, and he was freshly shaven - skin smooth and tan as it disappeared into his collar. Standing with his shirtsleeves folded to his elbows and posed as he was by the stove, he looked very nearly like he belonged there. 

He gave nothing away, not a hint of shock at Will’s sudden appearance. “Good morning, Will. Breakfast will be ready momentarily. Alana volunteered to step out and purchase a few things to keep us fed.” He said, an agile flip of his wrist sending something up and over the edge of the pan before he caught it again. “Mushrooms and asparagus under a poached egg, accompanied by country sausage.”

Alana kept her eyes on her hands, obviously embarrassed at being overheard. “We were just about to wake you.”

“I am notorious for my good timing.” Will said dryly.

“And we are fortunate for it.” The man answered with the same flavorless amiability Will had grown to loath in Hannibal. “Alana, I hate to keep moving you from task to task, but would you mind setting the table?”

Alana was quick to comply, gathering cups and cutlery and leaving the two men alone in the kitchen. 

Will listened as chairs were moved and glasses set down in the next room. He dropped his voice, aware that they would not be alone for long. “She made that very easy for you.”

“You did a thorough job of embarrassing her. I doubt she will blame me for offering her a moment to collect herself.” 

“Now that we find ourselves so conveniently alone, is there something you wanted to say?”

“I believe I could ask you the same question.”

Will’s watched him for a few moments, swirling simmering water and cracking in an egg before turning his attention back to the sausage. He was pointedly not looking at Will, and that was somehow just as irritating as when he was. “Do not come into that bedroom again.” 

He paused, eyes sliding from the pan up to Will’s face. “I apologize if it felt like an intrusion. I was in need of fresh clothing.”

“You were in need of fortifications for your disguise. This was one of the things he did best - cooking for all of us, whether we liked it or not. You really need to look the part to prevent her from paying too close attention to the food.”

“You make me out to be so devious.” He said, looking back down to the stovetop and lifting out the egg with a slotted spoon and quickly cracking open another. “Is it impossible that I had been in the same clothing for nearly four days and was desperate to change?”

Will shrugged one shoulder, uninterested in his reasoning. “You also lit a fire. You lingered, brought in wood and a match and made sure it all caught.”

“The room was cold.” He said, fingers flexing around a pan handle. “Is it very terrible of me to have not wanted you to be cold along with it?”

Will felt his hackles go up, and his lip curled. “You don’t care about me. Quit acting like you do.”

“What do you believe I care about, then? In this story you are telling, I find my own motivations unclear.”

That, of course, was the crux of it. Will was saved from having to come up with a response as Alana returned, glancing between the two of them before asking if she could help carry anything else to the table. The man plated everything and handed her one plate, keeping two for himself. He gestured for Alana to precede him, and Will trailed behind into the dining room.

This was one of the rooms that Will had initially gleefully seized control of, spreading books and papers from one end of the table to the other while he was still working, and then covering that with a layer of fly-making materials and various small projects when he still had the motivation to do anything - the motor from an electric pencil sharpener, a book he had meant to rebind - and over all of that had settled a layer of dust and disinterest. Alana had moved most of it to the far end of the table, and the air streaming through the windows was thick with motes of all sizes. 

Alana took her seat to the left of the head of the table. The man paused, turning and looking back to Will, the question clear. 

“Just sit down.” 

The man bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment, and set both plates down before easing in to the seat at the head of the table. Will sat to the right, and felt their eyes on him as he considered the plate.

It was pretty, he could easily admit that. Roasted mushrooms tumbling over spears of bright green asparagus, with a poached egg nestled in the center as though in a nest. Several small, hand-formed sausage patties and batons of toasted, seedy bread were arranged around the edge of the plate. A nest within a nest. As Will took the first bite, he wondered if he was more likely to choke on the symbolism or the food. 

It was delicious, which was enraging. If it had been even a touch away from perfect he could have stood up and thrown the plate in his face and forcibly removed him from the house, but as Will watched Alana cut into the egg and saw it spill onto the plate, perfectly yellow and unctuous, he knew he had lost even more ground.

“Breakfast is delicious, Hannibal.”

He smiled slightly but did not look up from his own plate. “I am nearly glad that we do not have a full pantry. I would have struggled to select the first dish to cook after so long.”

Alana smiled, warmth and sympathy radiating from her. “What would you make, if you could make anything? I would be happy to run out again and get anything you need.”

“Let me think on it.” He said. “I am equally happy to take requests if you will be staying for dinner.”

She glanced at Will. “I guess that will depend on how the day goes.”

“What constitutes a good day?” Will asked as he pointedly speared a mushroom. “I take it you have some ideas.”

Alana took a breath, setting her fork down. “Honestly, I’m not sure of the best way to do this. There is an argument to be made that I am too close to both of you to be objective about how to help - You, or Hannibal, or the two of you together.”

“I am more interested in the truth than objectivity.”

“One is hard to uncover without the other.” The man cut in. 

“And I don’t want more people in the house, anyway.” Will said through clenched teeth. 

The man wet his lips, clearly weighing his next words. “That may present a problem. I made several calls this morning regarding the repairs needed to the house. The upstairs windows, most pressingly.”

Will gripped the fork in his right hand so tightly he felt his knuckles pop. 

“Good!” Alana said. “You were able to find someone who could come by today?”

“Yes. I am having the furnace serviced this afternoon as well. The majority of the exterior work can wait until spring, but I would like to have the house sound again as soon as possible.”

“It’s hardly going to come down around us.” Will ground out.

“You are most likely correct, Will, though I would prefer not to test it all the same. I spent enough time in crumbling buildings to last me for a long while.”

Alana jumped in before Will could snipe at him again. “How was Lecter Castle? I remember it needed a lot of work, even before you decided you had to make the trip, but the pictures were beautiful.”

“A ruin now, for all intents and purposes. At least, that is the state in which I found it. I cannot remember how I left it.”

“What do you remember?” Alana asked, sitting up a little straighter. 

“Bits and pieces, not all of them likely to be real. When I first awoke in the hospital I thought I remembered falling, but that was not consistent with my injuries.” He took a sip of his coffee before continuing. “Assault was hypothesized by my physicians, but even now I cannot remember anyone with me at the property.”

Will frowned, and was talking before he could stop himself. “That castle is incredibly remote. Who else would ever go there?”

“I would not be surprised if people climbed the walls around the property from time to time, especially as it is known to be abandoned, but there has not been anything of value in the building for decades.”

“Someone could have seen the car.”

He nodded. “It is possible. I did have electronics and luggage with me. That could have been enough to tempt someone desperate.”

Will went back to eating, letting the two of them move the discussion back towards the repairs needed for the house. He needed to think. It would be incredibly stupid to put the actual chain of events that had to led to this man taking over Hannibal’s identity into his false narrative, and it didn’t feel right besides. A poacher or squatter happening upon Hannibal and deciding to rob him was plausible, but not likely given the location. He glanced over to the man as he sat at the head of the table. A squatter in Will’s house, certainly, but he couldn’t picture him living for any length of time in a damp, crumbling ruin in the middle of miles and miles of forest. 

Will stopped that train of thought, aggravated with himself. He was applying Hannibal’s personality to a stranger, and that would get him nowhere fast. 

Breakfast eventually ended with Will standing up and saying a quick thank you to the room at large before heading back upstairs and sequestering himself in the master bedroom. He stoked the fire with the remaining wood before showering and brushing his teeth. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he had really looked at himself in a mirror. Standing there, just a towel twisted around his hips and his hair hanging wet around his face, he looked haggard. Will swallowed, noticing how prominent his adams apple had become. Shit. Maybe Alana was more justified than he had been giving her credit for. 

He sat in front of the fireplace, listening as a car pulled into the driveway and someone went to get the door. Soon after, multiple sets of feet were going up and down the stairs. Window installers, then. 

He wondered if the prickling he felt under his skull was frustration over having strangers in his space or just his hair curling as it dried. 

There was not a working clock in the room, but it must have been around lunch when the noise momentarily ebbed off and Alana knocked on the door, pausing his train of thought.

“Will? We’re making lunch if you want to come down.”

He didn’t answer. She knocked again, and he heard her huff a sigh before leaving.

The fire burned down to just white ash, and the light in the room had shifted to the pale grey of a late winter afternoon. At one point he thought he heard footsteps pause outside his door, but with all of the installers walking back and forth in the room next door he couldn’t be sure. 

The noise outside his door finally stopped as the last drops of daylight drained away, and he was left sitting in near darkness. Will gradually worked himself up to standing, stretching and rolling his neck. He threw the towel onto the bed and pulled slacks and what had once been an expensive sweater. He left the bedroom in bare feet, idly thinking that the cold would help keep him alert, only to find that the floor was warm as he made his way down the stairs. The furnace was up and running again. 

Will walked past the kitchen, purposefully not looking in on his way back to the dining room where Alana was already seated and the wine had been poured. He took his seat, taking a sip of the wine and wondering if it had been in the house all this time or if one of them had gone out and got it. 

“What have you been up to all day, Will?”

“Thinking.” He said, swirling the glass to watch the wine hang.

“I’ve seen that have good and bad results.” She said, not unkindly.

He shrugged, giving her half a smile. “What’s for dinner?”

“Hannibal didn’t say, but he had me cut enough onions that I think I went blind for a minute. Smells good.” She looked up and smiled over his head. 

“It always smelled good.” Will said as he felt the man come up behind him and set a plate down in front of him. The food was herbaceous, fragrant with alliums and beautifully seared red meat and so unappetizing in that moment that Will would have rather sliced into his own tongue.

Dinner went much the same way breakfast had. Alana made gentle attempts to draw Will into the conversation, and he responded or didn’t by turns. If the man noticed that Will was quieter than he had been that morning, he made no indication. He seemed content; more settled than he had been that morning, though Will couldn’t quite put his finger on what was giving him that impression. 

Will shook his head when dessert was mentioned, rising again and going to the study.

The room had been tidied. The furniture had been moved back into the original configuration, and blankets on the sofa were folded neatly to one end with the pillows fluffed and stacked on top. The shelves lining the room looked untouched, but he couldn't be sure. Quicker than he had guessed, he heard measured footsteps behind him.

“That sofa is not as comfortable as I remembered it, though perhaps I am getting old.”

Will was all contempt as he kept examining the books. “I didn’t have any complaints.” 

He heard the smile in his voice as he answered. “Of course not. You are more resilient than the rest of us.”

“Can I help you with something?” 

“No. I didn’t mean to intrude, just to bring you this in case you find your appetite.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Will saw him set down a small port glass and a dessert plate piled high with something pale and airy. Meringue, maybe. The man lingered, straightening the fork and glass. 

“You do not need to eat with me, of course. I would see you fed either way. I can leave your plate in the kitchen tomorrow if that is what you would prefer.”

Will turned to look at him. His face was turned down; a study on remorse in the dim light. Will walked over, idly picking up the little glass and smelling it as he examined the other man. 

“This is sweeter than he usually gave me.”

The man licked his lips, turning to catch Will’s gaze as he answered. “I am trying to take your tastes into consideration as we move forward.”

Will smiled, and the expression felt rancid as it slid across his teeth. “I developed a taste for bitterness. Wine was just the start.” He set the glass back down next to the dessert, noting the gossamer-fine tremor of the man’s hand when Will’s was close enough to touch.

Will left him there, heading back to the bedroom and shoving one of the chairs under the handle as he closed the door. He opened one of the windows before curling up in the center of the bed, certain he would sleep better in the cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been working on this chapter on and off for so long now I don't really have anything intelligent to say about it besides that I like it when Will is mean to Hannibal. 
> 
> I've had a couple of comments on this fic in the past few days and they really put the fire back under me to start working on this again in earnest, so thank you!


	5. V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very brief mention of animal death

There was a series of urgent knocks on the bedroom door. Will groaned, rolling over to blearily look at the door.

“Will?” 

Two more knocks.

“I understand if you do not wish to speak to me, but please come downstairs.” There was a pause before the man added. “I would recommend that you stay away from the windows, for now.”

Will smiled to himself. He stretched and went to the bedroom window to pull back a curtain and look out on the front yard, only to promptly yelp a curse and duck back down as several camera flashes went off. 

“As I said, avoid the windows.” The man said from the other side of the door. “Reporters have been outside since approximately six this morning. Alana has been unable to convince them to leave.”

What Will wouldn’t give for one mean neighbor with a good rock throwing arm.

“I’ll be down in a minute.” Will called, waiting until he heard him retreat to tug the curtain fully closed and get dressed.

He jogged down the stairs minutes later, wondering how the commotion of the news crews hadn’t woken him sooner. The man was waiting for him in the hall, Alana in the living room with a phone pressed to her ear. 

“They haven’t seen you, have they?”

“I have no desire to engage with the media.” He paused, looking towards the door. “I admit I am somewhat confused as to why they are here.”

Will huffed. “You’re joking.”

“One reporter would not have been a surprise. My return is likely to peak the interest of the public.”

“We are far beyond a human interest piece. Those are crime reporters.”

“Ah. The riddle is solved. They are not here for me alone.”

“They shouldn’t be here at all. Did you talk to any of the contractors yesterday? One of them could have called in a tip.”

“I spoke to several over the phone, but Alana met them all at the door.” The man paused, considering before going on. “She also relayed that a Tattle Crime camera is at the forefront of the crowd.”

“Of course.” Will rubbed his hands over his face, thinking. “Maybe she has someone at the FBI in her pocket.”

He nodded once. “Ms. Lounds certainly has the means to do such a thing.”

“And the motivation. I was her biggest story for months.”

He frowned. “It is common, expected even, to cast suspicion on the spouse when a person goes missing. She was never an ally of yours, Will.”

“You think I should have been prepared for her. Is it common practice to hire hack body language experts and have them analyze video of me walking out of my classroom? I should have expected that it would be months before I could leave the house without her hounding me or trying to break in while I was gone?” 

It wasn’t until he stopped talking that Will realized he had raised his voice enough to draw Alana’s attention from her phone call. She looked at him worriedly, eyes wide. 

“I mean only that your lawyer, if not Jack himself, should have made sure you were equipped to handle those allegations.” The man said slowly.

“There was a time when Jack was the one spouting off those allegations.” Will said, mockingly matching his tone. 

They watched one another as Will waited for him to formulate a response before losing his patience and starting towards the front door. 

“I can handle this.”

“Will, I insist -” He started, stepping into Will’s path. 

“I made them leave me alone before. They can’t do anything worse than they did last time.”

Will pushed past him and headed towards the front door, only for his arm to be caught. The touch shocked him like a live wire, and Will yanked his arm back and spun to face him. There was something torn in the man’s expression as he took in Will’s defensive posture. 

“Don’t touch me.”

That low tone was back. “You do not have to go out there alone. The very least I could do for you is clear your name.”

“The least you could do?” Will had a lot more to say than that, but Alana ended her phone call and hurried over to them.

“If they’re not gone in another hour, Baltimore PD will be here to clear them out.”

Will glared at them both, taking in her position between him and the impostor, before turning back to the door. “I won’t need an hour.”

“Will, wait. You’re not good with reporters.” She called after him, but the door was already open and the flashes of light had started up again in earnest. 

Will stepped out, pulling the door closed behind him. Questions were immediately shouted at him, and the whole of the group swelled towards him with cameras and microphones held aloft. 

“Agent Graham! Is it true that your husband has returned?”

“Will! Why does the FBI want to keep Dr. Lecter’s location a secret?”

“Is Dr. Lecter in the house with you now?”

Will had to work to keep his expression neutral against the onslaught. “I am not taking questions, and I will not be taking questions any time in the future. This is private property and every person here is trespassing.” He squared his shoulders and took another step forward. “All that’s in this house are several large dogs that some of you are already familiar with. If you’re not off my lawn in two more minutes, I am going to open the door and let you report on that.”

“He’s lying.” Called a clear, high voice. “Someone poisoned one of his dogs, so he gave all the rest away.”

“Are you willing to bet, Freddie?” Will couldn’t see her over the crush of people, but there was no mistaking the sound. 

“Only as much as you are, Mr. Graham. I’d even bet that you called the cops, and they said they couldn’t get here for another hour at least.”

Will almost did something stupid, like ask if she had finally managed to bug his house. Instead, he did something much stupider. “Then let’s see how many lenses I can crack until then.”

He reached for the camera closest to his face and had nearly wrestled it out of the reporter’s hands when Will felt the door behind him open and looked over his shoulder to see the man standing there, his face set in a kind of predatory benevolence as he looked out on the small sea of reporters gathered on the lawn. 

“I believe I heard my name?”

If the flashing lights had been annoying before, they were blinding now. The camera in Will’s hands was wrenched away and several people made to actually step up onto the porch before a look from Will set them back on their heels. 

They were yelling questions over one another now, and Will couldn’t even process one voice before another cut in. The din of them, the flashing lights, made Will feel like an animal trapped in a cage.

“Take a step back. They don’t deserve to see you rattled over this,” said a low, warm voice in his ear. The man eased a hand around his wrist, leading Will back a step from the throng. 

“I don’t want -” Will started to say, teeth clenched as he turned away from the reporters to look the man in the eye. 

He was calm; as if the noise and press of people were a mile away instead of a few feet. “By fighting them you will only create more of a story. We can still turn this into a human interest piece, I promise you.”

Nearly against his will, the man’s voice was working to calm him down enough to think more rationally. He wasn’t wrong. If they acted like this was a fluff piece, a fluff piece it would become. It would also go a very long way in cementing the new Dr. Lecter’s place in Will’s life. Even if he raised hell in front of all these cameras, the man was already on film looking and acting for all the world like Hannibal. Will had been out maneuvered. 

So he did what he had been forced to do the first time around; act the way Hannibal wanted him to act. 

Will raised his voice, but lowered his eyes on the other man’s tie. “I didn’t want them to see you. You just got back, we haven’t even had a chance to really talk.”

If his words lacked the appropriate inflection, no one noticed but the two of them. Immediately the other voices dropped off and two boom microphones closed in. 

“There is nothing to be done for it now. We may as well face it together.” The false pleasantry was back as he turned again to face the cameras, and Will tugged his wrist free before turning with him.

The surge of voices hit Will like a wave instead of a wall, going over and past him as the man answered question after question with vague but emotionally manipulative responses. No eyes were on Will, suddenly, save one pair. 

Freddie Lounds was looking at Will as though he’d sprouted a second head. Every other beat she would spare a glance at the man beside him, but more and more she seemed to just be staring at Will. He did feel a certain kind of sour satisfaction as he watched her trying to right her world view from where Dr. Lecter’s miraculous reappearance has knocked it off its axle. Will wasn’t sure her system would recover from the shock of having to print a story in which he did not appear as a psychopathic murderer.

Just for that, he let the man’s arm stay around his shoulders when he wrapped Will up against him. Someone asked about the court battles, and if he would be going after everything that had been sold off from the estate. 

“Whatever the future may hold, Will and I will face it together. I intend to spend the rest of my life ensuring that any wrongs done to him are righted, including those I am responsible for.”

Will’s mouth was open before his brain had fully processed what the man had just said.

“What wrongs would that be?”

His arm was too warm around Will’s shoulders, the wool of his suit jacket like nettle against his skin as the man replied, “I am counting on you to tell me, Will.”

“I’ll get started on a list after breakfast.”

A few people laughed, which was a better reaction than Will had received from the media in years, and the man all but beamed at him before starting to say their goodbyes. It took longer than Will thought he could stand, but by the time he allowed himself to be ushered back through the door lights were going out and cameras were switching off as the horde dispersed.

Alana was waiting, closing the door behind them and evaluating Will with an exasperated twist to her mouth as the man dropped his arm and Will took two steps away from them both.

“That was a bad idea, Will. If I hadn’t convinced - “

“Alana.” The man cut in, expression suddenly blank. “There is no need.”

“You don’t think there is a problem with the way that was handled before you went out there?”

“The only problem I have this morning is the current tone in this room, and that none of us have yet had breakfast. I would see both remedied as quickly as possible.”

Alana looked somewhat shocked. “I’m trying to be realistic about the damage that may have just been done to our ability to control this. Will rushing out there and threatening people on camera is exactly what you didn’t need. Either of you.”

“Thank you for your insight.” He said, tone still suffocatingly flat. 

“Hannibal. They have footage of him attacking a cameraman.”

“Attack feels like a strong word,” Will mused aloud, finally reaching his limit of the two of them talking as though he had been struck deaf and dumb. “I didn’t even get the chance to throw a punch.”

“This isn’t a joke.”

“Indeed it is not. This has been a reality of Will’s life since I have been gone. He has the right to respond to it as he sees fit.”

“You’re really going to condone violence as a response to a few news crews on the lawn?” Alana said, voice sliding back towards scolding. “If this is your attempt to win him over, I hope you realize that you are only doing more damage to the both of you.”

“I don’t feel particularly ‘won over’. Maybe let me shoot someone next time.”

“We can discuss it.” The man replied, lips lilting ever so slightly, though he kept his eyes on Alana’s outraged face. “Though perhaps we would find more success without Dr. Bloom’s input.”

That clearly cut her, but she gathered herself quickly. “Fine. Will, are you comfortable being alone with Hannibal right now?”

It was Will’s turn to be cut; deeper than he thought he could be at this point in their relationship. 

“That’s the first time you’ve asked me that, Alana.”

Her face fell. “I didn’t mean -”

“Didn’t mean to give credence to my continued delusion? Or maybe you didn’t mean to make it obvious that you’ll play us against each other if it means that you get your way.” Will didn’t bother to hide the venom in his voice. He didn’t know if he would be able to if he tried.

“That is not fair! I am trying to help you! Both of you.”

“You would serve us best in this instance by allowing me to speak to Will alone.” The man said.

Alana was upset, and clearly had more to say, but must have realized she was only hurting herself if they continued on this same path. With a shake of her head she headed up the stairs, and they could hear as she closed the guest bedroom behind her. All at once, they were alone, and Will wasn’t sure he shouldn’t have taken the out Alana had offered; no matter how she had meant it. 

Will was surprised when the man moved away from him, bringing a hand to the back of his neck and rolling his head from side to side. There was a long silence as Will watched him, waiting. 

“I got the impression you had something to say to me.”

“I do not want to presume that you would like to hear it.” 

Will hummed, considering. He walked into the living room, dusty and disused as the rest of the house, but neutral between them: none of the weight of the study or the dining room lingered there. A pause as the man hesitated behind him, then careful footsteps trailing after him. 

“Alana told you to come out after me.” Will started, making a slow circle around the perimeter of the room as he organized his thoughts. “But I’d guess that was the extent of her instruction. She wouldn’t have expected you to hold a whole press conference.”

“She was concerned that you would be unequipped to handle anyone who aggressively questioned you, and about Freddie Lounds’s presence specifically.” He held his ground, letting Will pace behind him. “I realize that you would have preferred that I remained unseen.”

“Yes. You’ll be harder to get rid of, now that everyone knows you’re here.”

“The thought did occur to me.” He replied, the faint amusement seeping back into his voice. “You did not have to cooperate when I opened the door. You were overwhelmed, but hardly incapacitated.”

“Your way was quicker, and I looked like a lunatic either way.”

“Perhaps.” The man angled his head to catch Will with the corner of his eye. “I also intend to keep proving to you that I mean what I say. Things will be different.”

“It sure felt like more of the same, just now. Standing there and letting someone else do the talking as I try to figure out what consequences cooperation will earn me.”

“I did ask.”

“Are you insulted? How novel. I don’t think I ever said anything to him that did more than nick the surface.”

“I wonder now if there was much under that surface worth aiming for.” He sounded… regretful, almost. “I gave you very little of myself.”

Will slowed, trailing one finger over a dust covered windowsill. “I liked the surface, for a while. It was easy.”

He sighed. “How long until I convince you that I am him, Will?”

“How long until you give this up and leave me in peace?”

He narrowed his eyes, then started to pace counter to Will’s path. “How long would you give me?”

“What?”

“How long do you think it would take? For you to be certain that I am Hannibal Lecter, returned and determined to prove myself worthy of being your husband?”

Will laughed, outraged and very nearly entertained by the idea. “You could have ten years and you wouldn’t make any progress. I know my own mind, though some people in this house would argue that fact, and you can’t change what I know is the truth.”

“Then I can change only myself and my behavior, and prove my aim is to remove the barriers we have built between us.”

“Many of those were put up for good reasons.”

He came to a stop in front of Will, voice low and warm again. “I will try to be conscious of that while I tear them down.”

Something caught in Will’s throat as he said that. Cruelty he was prepared for. Lying, manipulation, injury were all to be expected. Whatever this was, he hadn’t planned for.

“The whole thing was a ruin before you ever laid eyes on it. Tear down whatever you want. ”

Will gave him a wide berth as he left the room. He was exhausted all at once - the crowd, arguing with Alana, and now whatever this newest ploy was - he felt barely equipped to handle it all in one morning. 

He was nearly to the stairs when he heard the man speak again, as if to himself, “As you wish, Will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone talks SO much and nothing really happens but Will is warming up to him bit by bit. 
> 
> Sorry the world is ending, but my desire to do anything but think about what is going on has helped me pick this fic back up. My industry is not just critical, but essential, and we have been up to our elbows in this mess. 
> 
> You're all spectacular, thank you a million times for reading, and for the love of god stay home


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